EN.ahda🌀

i just want to spend the rest of this year letting things flow for once in my life and not stress over outcomes and/ or situations i have absolute no control over. just letting God guide me while i work on being the best version of me.

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تُنسى، كأنَّكَ لم تَكُنْ تُنْسَى كمصرع طائرٍ ككنيسةٍ مهجورةٍ تُنْسَى، كحبّ عابرٍ وكوردةٍ في الليل .... تُنْسَى أَنا للطريق...هناك من سَبَقَتْ خُطَاهُ خُطَايَ مَنْ أَمْلَى رُؤاهُ على رُؤَايَ. تُنْسَى, كأنك لم تكن شخصاً, ولا نصّاً... وتُنْسَى أَمشي على هَدْيِ البصيرة، رُبّما أُعطي الحكايةَ سيرةً شخصيَّةً. فالمفرداتُ تسُوسُني وأسُوسُها. أنا شكلها وهي التجلِّي الحُرُّ. لكنْ قيل ما سأقول. يسبقني غدٌ ماضٍ. أَنا مَلِكُ الصدى. لا عَرْشَ لي إلاَّ الهوامش. و الطريقُ هو الطريقةُ. رُبَّما نَسِيَ الأوائلُ وَصْفَ شيء ما، أُحرِّكُ فيه ذاكرةً وحسّا تُنسَى، كأنِّكَ لم تكن خبراً، ولا أَثراً... وتُنْسى أَنا للطريق... هناك مَنْ تمشي خُطَاهُ على خُطَايَ, وَمَنْ سيتبعني إلى رؤيايَ. مَنْ سيقول شعراً في مديح حدائقِ المنفى، أمامَ البيت، حراً من عبادَةِ أمسِ، حراً من كناياتي ومن لغتي, فأشهد أَنني حيُّ وحُرُّ حين أُنْسَى!

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow -- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand -- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep -- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream? -Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common spring— From the same source I have not taken My sorrow—I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone— And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— Then—in my childhood—in the dawn Of a most stormy life—was drawn From ev’ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still— From the torrent, or the fountain— From the red cliff of the mountain— From the sun that ’round me roll’d In its autumn tint of gold— From the lightning in the sky As it pass’d me flying by— From the thunder, and the storm— And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view - Edgar Allan Poe